


I Mean It

by exultantStardust (mintsaway)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Bars and Pubs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Post-Canon, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, briefly, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintsaway/pseuds/exultantStardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's fine. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Mean It

**Author's Note:**

> this is shitty and im sorry its completely self indulgent and born out of me trying not to relapse. enjoy

Bokuto sipped his drink slowly, reveling in the low burn he felt as it hit the back of his throat. It had become routine to come to the small bar every Friday night, the one consistent thing in his hectic life besides practice, that was sporadic enough as it was.

He slowly lost himself in the soft jazz music that echoed through the bustling bar, trying to to think or pay attention to anything. He preferred it this way.

Despite his best efforts not to think, his brain had other ideas.

 _Smash the glass on the bar_. A voice in the back of his head said. There it went again.

_It’s been what? Two days? Too long, too long. Smash the glass and use the shards to slice yourself up again. You know you want to._

Bokuto sighed and shook his head, instead taking another long sip of his drink. He stayed like that for a long time, slowly but surely emptying his glass and trying to silence the voice in his head.

“Bokuto-san?” A smooth voice startled him out of his trance, making him jump slightly. He hadn't heard that voice in years.

“Akaashi?” He turned to the source to see that it was infact his old friend from high school, Akaashi Keiji. He looked older, hair a bit longer, muscles more defined (he noticed thanks to Akaashi’s tight shirt), but still definitely him.

“It’s been a while,” Akaashi said, because it had been, nearly four years since they'd seen each other last. They’d fallen out of contact after Bokuto had graduated.

“Yeah,” he paused, trying to remember what the next part of these conversations was.

“How are you?” Akaashi supplied, taking a seat next to Bokuto at the bar.

“Fine,” Bokuto said. He always said this when someone asked how he was doing. It was easier this way.

“How’s school?” Akaashi asked, clearly trying to get Bokuto to say something.

“Graduated,” Bokuto told him, leaning forward on the bar to rest his head on his palm.

“Oh,” Akaashi paused, “So what are you doing now?”

“Playing volleyball,” Bokuto replied like they didn’t both already know. Of course he was playing volleyball. When hadn’t he.

Akaashi nodded and the conversation went on with idle small talk for a while.

“I missed you,” Bokuto blurted out during a small lull in conversation, and immediately regretted it.

Akaashi’s eyes widened slightly. He shouldn’t have said that. That wasn’t the kind of thing you just said. _Fuck_.

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that. I—” Bokuto tried to amend, but Akaashi cut him off.

“I missed you too,” He said softly, almost so quiet Bokuto thought he might have imagined it.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto stated, but stopped when he realized he didn’t know what he wanted to say after that.

Akaashi seemed to understand his intent however, smiling softly and placing a hand over Bokuto’s on the bar.

\--

Bokuto blames the alcohol for his current position, tangled up in the sheets of Akaashi’s bed, hands threaded through the man’s dark hair as their lips crashed together unceremoniously.

Akaashi slid a hand down to the hem of Bokuto’s shirt, the and the owlish man tensed.

“Shirt stays on,” he said quietly but with no room for debate. He couldn’t let Akaashi see what lay beneath the layer of dark cotton.

Akaashi simply nodded in acceptance and moved on to other places, his wrist flicking slightly as he undid the button on Bokuto’s jeans.

Bokuto allowed the to be slipped off before Akaashi’s hands were exploring the newly exposed skin.

His fingers paused over a patch of skin slightly rougher than the rest, feeling small areas of raised skin. Akaashi looked down at Bokuto’s thighs to see them littered with scars, some months old, some clearly less than a week old.

Bokuto immediately pulled a blanket over himself, hoping and praying that Akaashi would just ignore them and he wouldn’t have to deal with this.

“What are those Bokuto?” Akaashi asked as though they didn't both already know.

“They’re nothing,” the silver haired man replied, “don’t worry about them.” Akaashi fixed him with an unimpressed stare, before a small look of realization lit up his features.

“Take of your shirt,” he ordered, and Bokuto shrank slightly. He shook his head almost childishly.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi tried, to no avail.

“Koutarou,” he tried instead, voice firm and unwavering, despite how he felt.

Bokuto flinched at the use of his first name, but complied, slowly pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his chest and abdomen, both littered with newly scabbed scars.

It took all of Akaashi’s willpower not to gaso, instead raising a hand to his mouth in silent shock.

Bokuto’s chest and stomach were completely covered in scars, some still bearing bandages that couldn’t me more than a few days old.

 _Two_. Bokuto thought.

Akaashi didn’t speak, didn’t scream in disgust or horror or throw Bokuto out like he’d anticipated. Instead he wrapped his arms around Bokuto’s neck and pulled the older man close, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder.

It was a long time before either if them spoke, Bokuto trying and failing to hold back tears as he sobbed into Akaashi’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi finally said, not quite sure what he was apologizing for.

Eventually they fell asleep like that, holding each other close, Bokuto’s face still buried in Akaashi’s shoulder, tears drying into the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi whispered as he drifted off.

“I’m sorry.” 


End file.
